


More Than Umami

by karotsamused



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crack, Does this count as dirty talk?, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Toriko is exuberant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9363035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karotsamused/pseuds/karotsamused
Summary: It's not as though Komatsu hadn't seen this coming.Oh, wow, okay, let's try that one again.It's not as though Komatsu hadn't seen the warning signs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely hope someone else has had this idea and written this better than I have. But my sweet Bean planted the idea and we laughed way too hard for me not to make an attempt.

It's not as though Komatsu hadn't seen this coming.

Oh, wow, okay, let's try that one again.

It's not as though Komatsu hadn't seen the warning signs.

He had trained beside Toriko, learning to Honor the Food. He'd fed Toriko countless meals, and snacks, and drinks. He had been present for, and participated in, verbal affection for his meals to the point that gushing while he ate felt normal. Of course, no man could muster enthusiasm for a mouthful quite like Toriko.

Second try: No man had managed the art of praise with his mouth full--

No, this isn't working.

The point is, the point is, the first time Komatsu dared kiss a drop of sweet fig wine from the curve of Toriko's mouth, he'd been too drunk - on alcohol and on terror - to pay much attention to the way Toriko mumbled at him, too entranced by the sudden pressure of a massive hand on the back of his head pulling him in.

He'd said: "Salt, and just enough bitterness to counter the sweetness of this wine. And the texture of a fresh-peeled orange, still dry, begging for my teeth--"

Komatsu had said: "Mmph."

The point is, Toriko kissed like he ate, mouth watering, calling on his unbridled enthusiasm and often the strength of his hands to help him along. Of course, Komatsu already knew how terribly small he was in comparison, having too-frequently buried his tears in Toriko's hip. Of course, he should have expected that Toriko's tendency to throw him around like he weighed nothing - because, to Toriko, it was nearly true - wouldn't abate even in the safety of private quarters. It was more convenient, and more than a little thrilling, every time Toriko hauled him off the ground to suck a mark like a shark bite into his neck.

It was just, it was maddening, the way Toriko laved his tongue over the marks he made, constant pressure, growling about the taste of iron and copper, the faintest rasp of Komatsu's stubble lending a counterpoint to the soft hollow behind his ear. Toriko could press his nose to the base of Komatsu's throat and just breathe, then laugh as he told Komatsu exactly what he could taste in Komatsu's sweat.

But, until this exact moment, their interactions had been comparatively tame. Komatsu hadn't much had time for romantic relationships even before meeting and partnering with Toriko. While he couldn't guess at Toriko's experience, and felt rather rude for asking, he'd been relieved at the readiness with which Toriko let him take the physical progression of their relationship... slowly. It wasn't so much that Komatsu was intimidated by Toriko's size, or even mistrustful of letting him close.

Something was just nagging at him, until now. Something he couldn't quite name.

But now, now that apprehension is gone, smothered under heat and the weight of Toriko's hands. Komatsu's shirt is on the floor. His shoes are by the door. Toriko's bed is soft enough to sink into. It's early summer, before the worst of the heat can cling to evening. The air is cool and the smell of grass filters through Toriko's sugar-glass windows, sweet and wild and green.

Toriko never stops murmuring to him, soft and intimate, words that trail shivers down Komatsu's spine. He tells Komatsu about the foods Komatsu had prepared that day, from snatches still soaked into his fingertips. He whispers to the beat of the pulse in Komatsu's wrist, moans softly into the curve of his armpit. Komatsu thinks distantly, dizzily about pheromones.

The small of his back is sweating. With nerves, with anticipation. It makes the spun sugar of Toriko's bedsheets stick to him as they melt, so the air between them smells ever sweeter.

Komatsu has long since learned not to fear Toriko's teeth, but still he gasps when Toriko nibbles lightly down his chest. Toriko digs his thumbs into Komatsu's hipbones and traces the line of each rib with the tip of his tongue, almost crooning.

"Soft as the skin on a peach, or softer, and even here there is the faintest hint of -" He pauses. Looks up the length of Komatsu's body, and grins his predator's grin. "Promise."

Komatsu shivers from the arches of his feet to his scalp, whining high and weak when Toriko laughs and flicks the tip of his tongue into Komatsu's navel.

Toriko handles him like he is more than glass, like he is a delicate puffer whale one misstep from poison, like he is complex and delectable and rare. He mouths at Komatsu's hipbones. He undoes the buttons on Komatsu's pants with a deftness Komatsu barely notices, until he's urging, "Up, lift," and somehow Komatsu's brain pieces itself together long enough to get his hips off the bed, to bow his knees together, and then he's bared entirely.

Komatsu has no time to feel even a touch of shame before Toriko swallows his cock to the base. Komatsu is vaguely aware of embarrassing noises tumbling from his mouth, but it's lost in the ceaseless, hungry heat of Toriko's mouth, the slick slide of his tongue. It's all Komatsu can do to hold on, his hands fisting uselessly in the sticky-sweet candy bedsheets melting under his back.

Toriko is near to purring with satisfaction, teasing the undersides of Komatsu's thighs with his fingertips. He is as ardent with Komatsu's cock as anything he's tasted, writhing his tongue against it, taking deep breaths through his nose. Perhaps another man would be humiliated, the way Toriko takes him like he's nothing difficult. But Komatsu has seen Toriko eat a sandwich twice as tall as his own arm without choking. Komatsu can't care about anything but surviving the delicacy with which Toriko tears him to pieces.

He knows tears are rolling down his cheeks, knows he's gasping every breath, knows that when Toriko reaches up to put his hand on Komatsu's chest, it's not to keep him from bucking but to keep him from shooting into space. And still, weakly, he tries to warn him. "T-tori-" he manages, sobbing. "Toriko, please."

Toriko doesn't stop, doesn't pull back even a fraction, only looks up at Komatsu and twitches the corner of his mouth up into a smile. "Mm-hm," he says, permission and benediction and want. Komatsu shakes apart, cradled in his hands.

Toriko gentles him down, swallowing what he's given and licking him clean before pulling back with a smile like a satisfied cat.

He takes a deep breath.

Komatsu's stomach drops. "Oh, oh, no, Toriko--"

He licks his lips.

"Toriko, please, don't--"

His eyes close to happy slits, his brows drawing together. A smile blossoms on his face.

"Toriko!"

"DEEEEEELICIOUS!!"

"Oh, God, you did, Toriko, you really--"

"Yeah, it's bitter, and salty, but I finally understand what Sunny's talking about when he goes on and on about atmosphere!"

Komatsu buries his face in his hands, trying to press his knees together around Toriko's head. "Toriko," he moans.

Outside, from some few kilometers away, Terry howls in recognition.

"The way the sweets house smells, how warm your body is, making everything melt just a little, the noises you make providing perfect ambiance--"

"Toriko," says Komatsu. He tries to hold on to the wretchedness he feels, because this is just too much, not to mention potentially inconvenient if they ever try having sex somewhere less remote than Toriko's place, but a smile works its way onto his face despite that. "Toriko!"

"And the texture was like swallowing a raw egg, in a very satisfying way!" Toriko nuzzles into Komatsu's thigh when Komatsu tries to squish his face. He grins a little. "Not the highest capture level, but this has been one of my favorite hunts."

Komatsu throws himself backward, laughing into his hands. "That's it! Toriko, you're awful!"

Toriko's mouth purses into a moue of confusion. "I thought I did pretty well, from your reaction. Hey, Komatsu!"

He tugs at Toriko's hand and Toriko obliges, crawling up over him so their noses brush. "You," he breathes, "were perfect."

Maybe some day Toriko will run out of ways to surprise him. But for now, there is the echo of Toriko's joyous bellow still rocketing through the cool night, and the warmth of Toriko's hands, and the fangs in his bright, white smile.


End file.
